


Blizzard

by Otrera



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blizzards & Snowstorms, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-15 19:35:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11237745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Otrera/pseuds/Otrera
Summary: Crowley reflects on a childhood memory.





	Blizzard

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the June 2017 Rare Ship Creations Challenge! The theme was weather; my prompt was blizzard.

"Still drinking that swill, I see,"

Bobby is too used to Crowley's sporadic comings and goings to be surprised by his sudden appearance in Bobby's living room. He jerks his head toward the kitchen and says, "Go get yourself a cup if you want some."

Crowley rolls his eyes and a glass tumbler appears in his hand. He pours himself some of the cheap whiskey. "Terrible manners for your houseguest." He takes a seat next to Bobby, reclining leisurely on the couch and sipping his drink.

They sit without talking, with only the wind whistling past the windows breaking the silence. Snow and hail batter the roof and block up the doors.

"When I was a small boy," says Crowley suddenly, "I was playing outside, and it began to snow. Then the wind picked up, and the snowflakes got bigger and more plentiful. I thought it was wonderful, being the silly human child that I was."

Bobby glances sideways at him, but doesn't say anything.

"Mother came out to get me," he continues, "and not a minute after we were inside, the snowstorm had turned into a blizzard. I thought the house was going to collapse. The only reason it did manage to stay up was because Mother cast a spell. Of course, I didn't know that at the time." He swirls his drink around in his glass and knocks all it back in one go, so unlike his usual elegant sips. "I still don't know why she did't just leave me out there to die. I know she hated me. Still hates me."

Bobby is bad at talking about this kind of stuff; there's no two ways about it. He is even more at a loss for what to say than usual, because this is Crowley. _Crowley_ , the demon with a heart of stone, who never opens up to anybody about anything. So he opts for refilling his glass of whiskey for him and brushing the back of his hand over Crowley's knuckles. Crowley settles into the couch more comfortably, his shoulder pressing against Bobby's in a soothing line of heat.

"Put something on for us, love," says Crowley, nodding at the television.

Bobby grunts. "Can't. Storm knocked the power out."

Crowley hums and flicks his wrist. The television springs to life. Bobby raises his eyebrows.

"Cadenas de amor?"

"What's the point in having supernatural powers if you can't use them to watch terrible Mexican soap operas?"

As they watch the drama unfold on the television, Bobby says gruffly, "I'm glad she did save you. If that makes any difference."

Crowley doesn't respond, but his fingers twine together with Bobby's.

They stay like that on the couch (certainly not cuddling, because demons and grumpy old men don't cuddle), drinking horrible whiskey and listening to the blizzard outside. What they have isn't perfect - far from it, in fact - but they're both willing to take whatever they can get for as long as they can.


End file.
